


Almost Summer

by Dashiell_Mirai



Category: Geddy Lee (Musician), Rush (Band)
Genre: Author projects his stupid gay yearnings, Fluff, Ice Cream, M/M, Moderate gay panic, Only the fluffiest of fluffs, hand holding, high school romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:15:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22766131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dashiell_Mirai/pseuds/Dashiell_Mirai
Summary: Coming to class isn't exactly Jack Newman's favourite pastime. But, mysteriously, he keeps showing up to 6th period social studies all the same. The elusive reason why sits next to him, cracks jokes, and wears glasses much too big for his face.
Relationships: Geddy Lee/Original Male Character
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	Almost Summer

It is a known fact, though the particular reason why is not known, that whenever a public school is commissioned, instead of hiring an interior designer, they hire the sort of person who is perfectly satisfied drinking their tea lukewarm, regularly wears khakis, and, as I've long suspected, hates children. 

I show up to school for at _least_ an hour on most days, so I've had quite a bit of time to contemplate who the hell thought that painting the hallways and classrooms in the most nausea-inducing shade of green in existence was a good idea. 

Could've been Mr. Clarke. He was the sort of guy who wore a different tie every day of the week because he thought it provided "variety". And clearly hated children. I should know, I had him for Social Studies. 

That class would've been pretty much abject misery, so, naturally, I would've skipped it, except for _one thing_. One _person_ , rather. Geddy Lee Weinrib. His name as it was written on the roll was Gary, but absolutely no one called him that, not even his mom, apparently. 

Not exactly sure what I should say about him, honestly. He was a quiet guy, although he got less quiet when you got to know him. He liked to goof off like anyone else when the teachers weren't watching, and sometimes when they were, which I was often distinctly complicit in. I only had him in one other class, but I think we got on pretty well. 

I... I enjoyed his company. I don't exactly know how to put it. But the fact that I sat next to him made that class marginally less shitty, though I should note I was still failing. Not that I cared. 

I leaned back in my seat in the back row, looking surreptitiously at the seat to my left. Ged had momentarily surrendered to the iron rule of Mr. Clarke, and was scribbling down notes. He had a look of concentration on his face, and pushed a strand of his dark, thick-stranded hair out of his face. He'd only started growing it out at the beginning of the year, but it already cascaded easily past his shoulders. 

He stopped writing for a second, and frowned at his textbook. He fiddled a moment with his glasses case, before flipping it open and putting them on. They were almost comically huge, and he often joked that _they_ wore _him_ instead of the other way around, but I thought they weren't that bad on him. 

It all kinda worked, you know? His face wasn't exactly full of subtleties itself, with a bone structure you could cut glass with, and huge eyes that I could never tell if they were strictly brown or hazel, but they always reminded me of a puppy's. 

"Is your back hurting you, Mr. Newman?" deadpanned Mr. Clarke from his position at his desk, with the express conviction that no, it wasn't. 

"Mm? What? Oh, yeah, I'm just, agh, you know, the old scoliosis," I said, breaking quickly out of my reclined position into exaggerated stretching. Ged caught my eye and laughed almost inaudibly. 

"Really? Then I'd suggest you pay a visit to the nurse's office," continued Clarke the Tyrant. 

"Mm, nah, I'm good now," I said as casually as I could possibly be. 

"Then I'd suggest you get to work." 

"Alrighty," I shot back bouncily, embarrassingly loud in the nearly silent room. 

I flipped open my textbook and tried to copy some of the notes, but pretty soon I got really bored. 

Before I could start drawing dicks in the margins of my notebook, though, Ged whispered, "Do you actually have scoliosis?" 

I shook my head. "Nah. School's enough of a pain in my ass." 

"Don't you mean a pain in your back?" 

"Scoliosis of the ass," I muttered, lazily writing out another answer in my notebook. 

A little while passed, during which I did end up, er, exercising my artistic skills regarding the male anatomy. 

"Oh, the Battle of the Somme," Ged mentioned, under his breath, working on his own notes. "The Clarkester actually seemed kinda enthusiastic about that." 

"Yeah, it's cause he was _there_ ," I quipped sarcastically. 

"Well he's old enough, that's for sure." 

I blinked awkwardly. "That's uh. That's what I meant." 

"Oh. Yeah, should've seen that," he whisper-laughed. That kind of got a chuckle out of me, though I didn't really know why, until I heard a voice from across the room that carried with it the approximate amount of force and cheer as a half-brick in a sock. 

"Mr. Weinrib? Is there something funny about trench warfare?" 

Ged tried to meet Mr. Clarke's gaze, but just ended up making a noise that sounded something like "No. Sorry," and going back to his textbook. 

The teacher fixed me with a glare from over his frankly impressive walrus moustache, and stalked back over to his desk.

The rest of the period was agonisingly long, and so was the one after that, but I had a test in that class, so I kinda couldn't skip it. After that, of course, school was out, but I had something on my mind. 

After I'd gotten my bookbag, I took a bit of a detour from my usual route out of the labyrinthine warren of misery that was the school, and accidentally bumped into Geddy. Literally. 

I had meant to bump into him figuratively, hence the detour, but I wasn't planning on getting stabbed in the shoulder by his nose. Which was my fault, but I digress. I looked down at him, momentarily stunned, despite the fact that I had planned to do this. Maybe I should've written down something on my hand. 

After way too long to not be awkward, I apologised, although I can't remember exactly what I said, or even if I said words at all. 

"Hey, no, man, you're good," he batted off my apology, rubbing his nose gingerly. 

"Yeah, I should, uh, watch where I'm going, though," I said, an awkwardly bright smile on my face while I tried to remember just what the hell it was I was going to say. 

"Aw, don't worry." He fiddled with the straps of his bookbag, then turned back to me. "You alright? You look like you've got something on your mind." 

I tried to silence the loud alarms proclaiming "SHITSHITSHITSHIT" in my brain and say something coherent, which turned out to be, "Uh, well, I'm not doing much, and I was, uh, wondering if you wanted to, like, come get some ice cream or something with me?" 

"Um, yeah," he said genially, still looking up at me with a bit of concern. "You sure you're alright?" 

"Yeah, yeah," I said, sweating profusely. "Just had one hell of a math test, that's all." He nodded understandingly, a fellow bearer of the burden of studenthood, and we started to walk towards the exit. 

"You know, it's kinda, uh, kinda fortunate you caught me today," Ged mentioned as we brushed past the mob of lingering students, congregating in cliques and chattering. "Me, Alex, and John gotta practice for a gig tomorrow." 

I nodded. Music: now that was the goal! You didn't need to know useless shit about derivatives if what you needed in life was to play, and to get better at playing. I knew Ged worked hard at it, and, while those other two guys were a bit outside my social circle, they must've too. 

"Yeah, where are you guys playing next?" I asked, not just out of politeness, but also because I wanted to see. 

"The gym at, uh, Crane Secondary School," he said, with a bit of a rueful chuckle. 

"Mm. Well, you gotta put yourself out there," I consoled, trying to be helpful. 

"Oh, no, definitely," he agreed, "I'm just remembering the last time we played a dance there. Some guy threw a bag of chips and hit Alex right in the face," he said between breaths of laughter. 

I laughed too, while remarking, "Jeez! That's an asshole move, huh?" 

"Yeah! He was, he was pissed, too, but he played along. He picked up the bag and put it on John's head, and then _John_ threw it at _me_!" 

I was listening to what he was saying, but on most levels, I think I was just kinda looking at him. I then promptly realised I _was_ looking at him, and stopped. 

"Sounds like you guys have fun," I remarked with a smile. 

"That we do." 

By now, we'd traversed the short length of sidewalk between the school and the little area of shops whose owners realised that selling cheap snacks and smokes near a bunch of teenagers with some pocket change to spare was a good idea. 

"You wanna go to Quick Buy, or, uh, Hartford Sweets?" I asked. 

"Quick Buy. Trust me, I've only got like, two dollars in my wallet right now," Geddy responded. 

I nodded. "Fair enough." I rifled through my own wallet. "Let's see... two-fifty, an old coupon, and a dead moth. It can be my treat." 

"What, the moth?" he laughed. 

"Yeah, and I'll eat the coupon. It'll be a feast," I joked. "Nah, I meant... I don't know what I meant, I guess I could give you a quarter and we'd be even." 

"Don't even think about it, man. I probably have, uh, more than I think I do." 

"Alright, suit yourself," I said, flicking the dead moth out onto the sidewalk behind me. 

It didn't take more than a couple of minutes to get to the convenience store. I pushed open the door, which made a little jingly noise, and Ged followed in after me. 

The guy behind the counter, a heavyset middle-aged guy, looked up momentarily from the magazine he was reading, determined we weren't a threat with an unimpressed grunt, and went back to whatever it was he'd been reading. 

Ged was over in the corner, perusing what was in the cooler. I went over to join him. 

"Hmm. Let's see, we've got double chocolate, vanilla crunch, peanut butter..." I mused. 

"That strawberry sherbet one looks good," remarked Ged. 

"I've never really liked fruit-flavoured sweets," I said, fishing a chocolate peanut butter ice cream sandwich out. 

"Well, fine, I've never really liked peanut butter," he shot back with mock indignance, making his selection. 

I put mine on the counter, and paid for it with the cashier barely looking up. I still had a dollar left in my wallet. Geddy went to pay for his, but when he fumbled around in his wallet to get the money, he froze. 

"Shit." 

"What's wrong?" I asked, frowning, even though I had a pretty good idea of what was wrong. 

"Turns out I only had a dollar in here..." he said, trying to keep his tone light even though I could tell he was pretty flustered. "I'll, uh, I'll go find another one." 

"Oh, you don't have to," I interceded. "How much do you need?" 

He doubled down. "Jack, don't worry about it, ok?" 

The cashier fixed us with a heavy stare. "You punks gonna pay, or not?" he deadpanned. I kinda bristled at the insult, but it wasn't worth it to say anything. I bought candy there regularly, and I didn't want to piss off the staff. 

"Here," I said, slapping down my remaining dollar. 

Ged stood back, quiet. The cashier acknowledged the transaction with another grunt, handed me fifty cents in change. I picked up the ice cream and, without thinking, tossed it to Ged, who almost dropped it. 

We walked out of there kinda quickly, but as soon as we were, I leaned against the back wall of the building, which faced a small, empty field. We both unwrapped our ice creams and set about them. 

"Thanks," said Ged quietly, after a little. 

"Don't mention it," I said, between bites. 

"I mean, I usually have more money than that on me, but I, uh, shelled it out for some hash earlier..." 

I smiled a little. "It's no problem, dude, trust me." 

We ate in silence for a little while longer, until a sticky drop of melted sherbet got on Ged's shirt. 

"Oh, mine's melting already," he complained, though he was still smiling. 

"So's mine, kinda. It's really warm out, though, so I'm not all that surprised." 

"Mm," he said, acknowledging that in spite of his redoubled efforts to “solve the problem”, which meant that his mouth was quite full. 

"It's almost summer," I remarked to no one in particular, before polishing off my ice cream sandwich. And it looked like summer already. The trees were swaying almost imperceptibly in a warm wind, and the sun was shining brightly, still high in the sky. 

"Yep. Almost summer," echoed Ged. 

"You doing anything?" 

He smiled out of the corner of his mouth, looking down at the pavement. "Gigs. Gigs, gigs, and more gigs." 

"Mm." I nodded. 

We stood there awhile, leaning against the wall, looking at the way the grass moved with the wind. At least, that's what Ged might've been looking at. I was looking at him. And then back at the field. And then back at him, darting a glimpse out of the corner of my eye. 

The sun caught the edges of his hair, illuminating its usual darkness into a deep brown. A strand of it blew over his eyes, and he brushed it away. And I couldn't _stop_ looking. I _couldn't_. It was terrifying. 

And then literally the worst thing I could've pictured happening in that very moment happened. He _noticed_. 

He met my gaze with those huge, sunlit, not-brown, not-hazel eyes, and I felt like I was going to throw up. I tried to swallow, my mouth dry as a parrot, but probably stickier, seeing as I didn't think parrots ate ice cream. 

"I. I, um," I said, a wonderful display of coherence. "You have something in your hair?" I finally came up with. 

He frowned, and ran his hand through his hair a few times. "Where? Did I get it?" 

I nodded quickly. 

There followed an extremely awkward silence, which couldn't have lasted more than ten seconds, but felt like absolutely forever. I tried to swallow down the feeling of my heart beating in my throat. 

And then something... _happened._ Something that, miraculously enough, wasn't me distributing my lunch across the pavement, no matter how much I felt like it. 

My hand shot out like a venomous snake, like I didn't control it, except I _did_ , in such a terrible, decisive way that came from somewhere deep in my brain that was, simply put, _completely and utterly fed up_. 

I looked over, probably looking absolutely horrified, to see that I had grabbed ahold, firmly but not a death grip, of Geddy's hand. Even worse, I could feel it, could feel _him_ , long-fingered and elegant, and... warm. Warm, soft, and _human_. I felt like I was dreaming and I was gonna wake up any second now. 

Out of morbid curiosity, slowly and painfully, my eyes crept up to how he'd reacted.

He looked surprised, but for some reason not disgusted, like I'd expected. He looked down at my hand- _our_ hands, then up at me. Then back down, and back up again. He opened his mouth slightly, then shut it, a bit like a fish. 

Finally, he said "...Huh."

I finally snapped out of the trance I seemed to be in, and pulled my hand away, unconsciously wiping it on my trousers like I'd had to handle a mildly unpleasant reptile. 

"Sorry," I mumbled. I mumbled some other things after that, but I have no idea if they were actually words. 

He scrubbed his hand through his hair. His brow furrowed like he was trying to unbend a corkscrew with his mind. 

"It's, um. It's ok, actually. I think."

Keeping his eyes front, he took my hand in his, _almost_ beginning to lace our fingers together. 

My face felt about as red as a beet. A beet which was on fire. And covered in lipstick. And fire ants. 

I don't know how long we stood there like that. It felt, in the manner of all such perplexing things, like it lasted both a few minutes and forever. His skin was warm against mine, and his hand held mine gently, but it felt so solid and real as to almost be overwhelming.

Fuck. I'm such an idiot. I spent an entire year coming to a class I hated, almost every day. I didn't even come every day to classes I _liked._ And I would just sit there, _not_ looking at him, _not_ thinking about him, except that I was weak and I _did_.

In that moment, I couldn't decide whether I was more of an idiot for letting him know I wanted, or for wanting in the first place. 

I looked over at him again. God, just what the fuck could he be thinking? I didn't even know what _I_ was thinking.

A thin film of cloud finished its passage over the sun, sending a late-afternoon glow over the field. And over us too, I guess.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I tried my best with the little details, but if I got shit wrong... don't be surprised lol  
> I've never been to Canada and I wasn't alive in the 70s, therefore I cannot be held accountable, legally or morally, for knowing how much a small ice cream cost.  
> Anyway, happy Valentine's day, ya filthy animals. Be gay, eat sherbet.


End file.
